I Tried to Have a Meet Cute and All I Got Was a Dick Pic.

I tried to orchestrate a meet cute last Friday and ended up crying in my car and getting a dick pic from a Craigslist stranger. Honestly, feels pretty on brand for how my dating life is (not) going.

As me and my friend walked into the local library book sale, a volunteer said, “Excuse me sir, did you have a box of books you had started?” Like he had left behind his giant box of books on the other side of the sale. He sort of awkwardly said yes and went to get them.

This guy was tall. Glasses. One wired earbud in (eff Bluetooth, my king). A mason jar of black coffee tucked into the back pocket of his black jeans like it was totally normal.

I just kept finding myself near him — not totally on purpose, but definitely not not on purpose either. I needed to find a replacement bird identification book because my 6-year-old has become emotionally bonded to a library copy and now insists on bringing it everywhere like it’s his emotional support manual. So of course this guy was in the nature section, and dropped some animal books at one point. I ALMOST bent over to try to help pick them up but I was at the wrong angle, like, behind his butt, lol, and it would have been very weird.

I also stayed in the biography section way longer than I was truly interested. At one point, I was crouched down looking at the bottom shelf and an older woman walked by and said, “I can’t squat like that anymore,” which 1) made us both laugh and 2) thank you, lady, for bringing up my impeccable squat in front of this guy. What a girl’s girl.

She told me she loves women’s biographies, specifically the presidents’ mothers, to get a sense of the women behind these powerful men. I told her I have a women’s studies degree so I could get down with that. She asked me where I went to school, and I told her I had gone to college in Flagstaff. What a coincidence! She’s taking a trip there this summer, so we talked about Flagstaff and coffee shops and favorite places to eat. It was sweet, and it was happening just loud enough for him to hear next to us, so I was simultaneously fantasizing that he was overhearing it all and tucking it away like, “Wow. A cute, interesting woman with great taste in books and the ability to talk to strangers.”

He didn’t say anything. Not even a “hey, nice fanny pack.” Which would’ve been fine. But sir, you had a wired earbud in. I thought we were soulmates.

I gave him a few too-long glances that were supposed to be flirty but probably read as me trying to weirdly get out a fart or something. I kept waiting for some kind of moment. A comment about the books I was holding. A glance back. Something. Nothing happened. Not even when I very loudly read the title of a book (it is called Raccoons are the Brightest People and I definitely bought it) and laughed a lot a few feet from him in the vintage section.

My friend encouraged me so kindly to go say hi and give him my number, but I was physically unable to do so. So instead, in full-on delusion mode, I wrote my name and number on a post-it. I described my outfit. Colorful fanny pack. Overall shorts. Yes, I was dressed like a single mom in a picture book about community gardens. The hopeful energy of someone who hasn’t fully given up yet. In hindsight, it probably screamed “middle school crush” energy. Which is, unfortunately, the only kind I have.

And I walked over to the checkout table, internally trembling, and asked the volunteers if they’d give it to him when he paid.